


The Morning After

by ainagren



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 09:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12429924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ainagren/pseuds/ainagren
Summary: Caroline and Dwight wake up at the inn after having spent the night together, before he is sailing off to war. Originally written for the prompt "No. Regrets.".





	The Morning After

The early morning sun is wedging its way in through the curtains, and finds her lying in a narrow bed, among rumpled sheets. It tickles her in the corner of her eye; she winks, moves, groans a little and wakes up, unwillingly, still smiling after her lovely dreams. Still half asleep, she rubs her eyes, yawns, and opens her eyes.

Her sleep has been deep and her dreams sweet, although she couldn’t tell their meaning, it is already forgotten, only the lingering emotion of deep joy and satisfaction, of having all she could ever ask for.

But now it is gone, in the blink or the opening of an eye. The sun mercilessly shows her the shabby chamber, with its soiled curtains, the sand on the floor, and the dust that dances in the stale air in the streak of sunlight. 

He is sitting on a chair beside the bed, as if he has been watching her in her sleep, waiting for her to wake up, and she blushes at the sudden knowledge that she is naked under the thin sheet. His blue eyes are deep with love and sorrow, his face is serious, almost remorseful. He blinks, keeping the tears that want to escape his eyes under control. She sees it and forgets about her nakedness, the filthy room, the vanished joy of the dream just gone. Quickly she stretches out her hand and touches his cheek; he grabs it and presses himself towards it, closing his eyes, breathing heavily. 

He is already dressed in his navy uniform – oh, how dashing he looks in it! Her heart is elated at the sight of him, at the thought that he is hers, now more than ever. His lovely face. Last night his face had been glowing of passion and desire, the same pride and joy that she feels now, looking at him, had been shining from his eyes. 

But that was then. Now, it is the morning after. Now is the time for parting. No one knows for how long. 

He kisses the palm of her hand, letting his lips linger, she can feel a hot tear dripping from his face onto her skin. Then he puts his face in his hands and shakes his head, slowly, as if he cannot believe what is happening, as if he, too, can’t accept the change that sleep has brought upon them; that the step from happiness to sadness was so short, so sudden, that it only took the closing and the opening of his eyes to make the most wonderful night of his life become a memory and his nightmare to become his future.

He whispers something, and she has to sit up and lean towards him to hear it, holding the sheet up under her chin to cover herself as best she can, but feeling it sliding off her side and leaving her hue bare. She shivers; it is cold, and she is taken with the inescapability of the situation. Her eyes are fixed on his lips to make out what he is trying to say, but she can’t hear, so she leans in even closer.

“What, my love?” she asks tenderly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m sorry”, he says louder, and finally looks up at her again.

Their eyes meet, the same deep gaze of love and worry. Then he notices her bare skin, it sends the slightest touch of redness to his cheek, and he reaches out to pull it up for her. But touching her makes him forget his intention, and so he lets his hand stay and caress her softly.

She smiles, sadly, breathes in.

“Sorry for what?” she asks gently.

He bites his lower lip, looks at her smooth body carelessly wrapped in that sheet, barely protected from his yearning gaze, and he pulls his hand over his face.

“I’m sorry for last night, I really shouldn’t have…”

He is interrupted by her embrace – she is throwing herself at him with such force that for a second he is losing his balance and has to grab the side of the bed not to fall over. The sheet is forgotten, it has fallen off her, and he carefully puts his hands on her bare back, his eyes closed, his heart pounding. He puts his lips to her temple, buries his nose in her hair and breathes in the scent of her. She is sobbing, and he is silently scolding himself for upsetting her.

Now she pushes him away again, skillfully pulling the sheet back up to cover herself from his look, and her eyes are blazing with anger and mortification. She shakes her head, her golden curls tossing around her blushing cheek.

“Don’t say that!” she exclaims. “Do not be sorry! You mustn’t be! I am not sorry, just so you know. I wanted to! And you did, too! Don’t say anything else, because it’s not true.”

Her indignation makes him smile, and he swiftly kisses her lips.

“My darling, darling Caroline”, he says warmly. “I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, I wanted to. I have wanted to make love to you almost for as long as I have known you. But maybe I feel that I somehow took advantage of you, last night. Or, of the situation. If things had been different, you never would have given yourself to me under such circumstances.”

“If things had been different”, she answers sharply, “we would have been married by now!”

He nods, smiles, sighs. This is a moment that he will have imprinted in his mind for the rest of his life – the sunlight through the window, the smell of sleep and warmth and dust and skin, her radiant eyes, her tousled hair, the contour of her lovely body under that sheet. Oh, how he wishes he could pull it off her, go back into bed with her, take up the play from last night and do it to her again. But it is late already, he can hear the door downstairs opening and closing, the sound of footsteps creaking in the stairs outside the room, voices from outside calling out names and orders. Soon, way to soon, it will be his name that is being called. And then he will have to go. There is no other way. 

He takes her in his arms again, harder this time. He kisses her cheek, her nose, her temples, her forehead, her chin, and he sees that she has her eyes closed and smiles; it sends a pain through his body that is almost unbearable. Then he kisses her ear, and whispers into it between kisses:

“I promise you. No. Regrets.”

Then, finally, he finds her lips, and he kisses her as if it is the last time ever. It might be, and they both know it.


End file.
